CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
"Don't die, Sae."
Rio didn't turn back as he said it, but his voice carried. Behind him, the barricaded door—sealed with overturned desks and crushed lab equipment—remained shut. She'd hold the researchers hostage, just like she wanted. It was a gamble, but everything they were doing tonight was.
Kenji, Kiba, and Daiki followed close behind. Their first hurdle would be making it down the hallway in one piece.
Above them, metallic clinks rang out as Himiko and Hayato crept around in the vents. Their movements were anything but subtle—that was why they'd be causing a commotion, to give them chaos that would ensure the duo remained undetected.
"Remember to stick to your positions," Rio warned as he stood before the door separating them from the onslaught that was destined to occur.
Rio took his time to appreciate the calm before the storm. This would be the last moment of peace he would experience until they all got out of here. Or it would be the very last he ever experiences.
He took a deep breath and pushed open the door, the cold barrels of machine guns aimed at it.
It was another extended moment of silence as the two sides used this time to appraise the other.
Then the silence broke.
With it came an ensuing madness.
RATATATAT
The sound of dense gunfire rang out like roars from hell. The group hid behind the half-open hallway doors while Daiki lay exposed.
The bullets bounced harmlessly off his skin, leaving sparks in their wake.
With a deep bellow, Daiki charged at the gunmen, the six assailants giving him their utmost attention.
That proved to be a fatal mistake.
Rio's enhanced senses brought the world into still time. He watched the bullets leaving a trail in the air slowly as they dented on impact with Daiki's enhanced skin.
He trained his pistol on his aggressors, aiming for the hand that gripped their weapon.
He fired and watched as the bullet tore through the air, the empty casing ejecting with a sharp metallic clink as smoke curled from the chamber.
Rio frowned, noting that his aim was off. He was going for the man's fingers but ended up hitting his shoulder.
Noting his mistake, he adjusted his form and fired once again—this time hitting his mark accurately.
He fired five more shots, all of them landing true as the sounds of gunfire finally ceased.
"Kiba, now!"
There was no need to speak any further—Kiba had already charged in low.
A flurry of claw strikes, fists, and kicks met the assailants. The pain of having their fingers shot off disoriented them so badly they couldn't mount any real resistance.
"That really hurt," Daiki said.
Rio noted that his skin was cracked in some places. Where the bullets had struck more than once had already chipped slightly—any more and it would break.
"Sorry, big guy, but you'll have to hold on a little longer," Rio said as he started rummaging through the downed guards' pockets.
"Phone, phone—someone give me a damn phone!" His prayers went unanswered. There wasn't a single phone in any of their pockets.
"Move. I'm sure there are still more ahead."
They were still on floor four. They'd need to get all the way to the top to escape.
"Kenji, lock the fuck in. How many guards up ahead?"
"I don't know, man! Woof. The stench of gunpowder is clogging up my sinuses."
"Well, you better try harder, because if you fail, we're all turning into sieves."
"Wait… there are multiple enemies ahead… about twelve or so, I think. Woof."
There wasn't anything like a door to act as cover. They'd have to take down the guns before they fired any.
They made a turn in the corridor, and sure enough—ten assailants stood waiting, guns already trained on them.
Rio didn't have time to be delicate. He fired immediately, not caring if he hit anything other than their fingers. As long as it wasn't a vital spot like the chest or a major artery, he was fine with the outcome.
Nine of their guns clattered to the floor, but Rio cursed when he saw a bullet eject from the barrel of one guard's gun. He must have missed his shot somehow. The blood staining the sleeves of the shooting guard's biceps confirmed his suspicion.
He dashed forward without hesitation.
Punching out, he angled his metal braces—the one salvaged from his cuffs—and used them as a makeshift shield to deflect the bullets.
The enemy panicked when his attack didn't work, but there was no time to reconsider.
Rio was already in front of his target.
He thrust his hands forward and pulled them back, sending the chain wrapped around his wrists snaking through the air like a whip.
It struck the man's nose with a solid thwack, breaking it on impact.
A brutal haymaker to the man's chin dropped him unconscious almost instantly.
"You know the blood loss can still kill them," Daiki said, watching as they quickly dispatched the fallen enemies. "What you're doing is admirable, but if these men don't reach a hospital soon, they'll die anyway."
A new enemy lunged out from behind a corner—his fist wreathed in flame.
Rio didn't flinch.
He slammed the butt of his gun across the man's face. The flame snuffed out mid-swing as the attacker crumpled to the ground.
"Well, let's just pray the pros get here in time." Rio knew it was hypocritical. These men wouldn't hesitate to inflict horrors beyond comprehension on him and his kind, but he still couldn't bring himself to kill them.
They pressed deeper into the corridor, weaving past bodies and scorch marks. Kenji stopped abruptly, sniffing the air like a bloodhound.
"There's… someone ahead. Maybe multiple."
Rio nodded at Daiki. "Do your thing."
Daiki cracked his neck and stepped forward. With slow, deliberate strength, he pushed open the heavy door.
No ambush greeted them. No sudden chorus of gunfire.
Instead, a sterile silence stretched out before them. Rows of beds lay neatly arranged like a dormitory, but along one wall, iron-barred cells lined the room. Inside, children slept—deeply, as if the blaring alarms were nothing more than distant echoes. The faint, sterile scent of antiseptic hung in the air.
"They've been sedated. Woof."
Nearly fifty cells lined the wall, but only twenty-three held occupants. The rest bore signs of life: scattered books, cracked glasses, a faded hand-drawn sticker clinging stubbornly to a wall. Still, no voices stirred.
"Wake them up, Kiba. We'll need all the help we can get."
Kiba set to work, expertly snapping the locks open one by one as Daiki did the same nearby. Kenji lacked the strength to pry the doors, so he chose instead to explain their situation to the groggy teens, offering calm words as they blinked awake.
Rio's boots echoed softly against the cold tile as he moved down the row. He stopped abruptly.
In a far cell, a boy curled in a corner, hugging his knees tight. His skin was pale—almost ghostly—in the dim light. He sat motionless, eyes vacant, fixed on the locked door as if it held the weight of his entire world.
Unlike the others, ranging from restless teens to dazed young adults, this boy seemed barely their age.
Rio tapped gently on the cell door. The boy flinched, jerking back in sudden alarm.
"We're getting out," Rio said softly.
The boy lifted his gaze, messy bangs shadowing his face. For a fleeting moment, Rio saw a spark of hope flicker in his eyes—only to be swiftly extinguished by a tide of despair.
His voice was faint, a broken squeal barely carrying the weight of his words.
"Thanks for the offer… but I'm staying here."
Rio frowned, confused, and leaned closer, offering again, "I'll get you out."
"I've seen breakouts before," the boy whispered. "No one makes it out alive. They all end up dead… ZuZu ended up dead."
Rio's fists clenched tightly. "You're really just gonna stay here?" His voice cracked, raw with disbelief. "After everything you've been through… you've been in chains long enough. You're really gonna give up now?"
The boy didn't flinch. His sunken eyes were glassy, yet carried a strange, hollow peace—like someone resigned to their fate. He didn't look away.
"I already did."
Rio took a step forward, jaw tight, but before he could say more, a large hand gripped his wrist firmly.
Daiki shook his head. "Rio. Don't."
"But—"
"We don't have time." Daiki's voice was gentle but firm. "You can't save everyone."
Those words hit Rio harder than he expected. He stared once more at the boy's frail silhouette, trembling and thin, melting into the shadows like a ghost who'd always belonged there.
"I'm not like the others," Rio whispered, voice barely audible. "I'll succeed. You'll see."
He turned away, the cold tile biting beneath his boots, and walked back toward the group.
Everyone was awake now, freed from their cells.
They all looked worse for wear—sickly, malnourished, like the nutrients had been drained out of them drip by drip.
Some were ghost-pale, their skin the color of ash, like they hadn't seen sunlight in years.
The air buzzed with low murmurs. The sound of excited chatter swelled—disoriented voices clashing, overlapping, scrambling for some kind of understanding.
CLAP.
The sharp sound of Rio clapping his hands together cut through the noise. Heads turned. Silence fell.
"It's surely been a dark time for you all," he began, voice steady and firm. "You've been ripped from your parents, your siblings, your friends—by sick men and women who don't see you as people, but as commodities."
He let that sink in before continuing.
"Today, you take back your pride. Pride that was stolen from you. But we're not out of the woods yet. This facility is still crawling with guards—armed, trained, ready to drag us back into chains. Is that what you want? Is that the life you're willing to return to?"
He swept his gaze across them.
"Then don't. Take up arms. Resist your oppressors. Fight with me."
He finished.
But silence was all that met him.
A girl, maybe fifteen, hesitantly raised her hand.
"So… you mean All Might isn't here?"
Another voice chimed in, almost hopeful. "Yeah—so there aren't any pro heroes coming?"
"Holy shit," someone else muttered. "Then we're not safe. They'll throw us back in and crank up the experiments."
Rio's heart sank.
The speech—the call to arms—it hadn't inspired them.
It had crushed them.
Knowing their saviors weren't the pro heroes they dreamed of, but kids just like them… it made everything feel hopeless again.
"YES," Rio bellowed suddenly, voice cutting like a whip. "WE AREN'T SAFE."
The chatter stopped.
"SOME OF YOU WILL DIE!."
There was no sugarcoating it. No use pretending otherwise. He wasn't a god. He couldn't save everyone. He had to make peace with that.
"BUT YOU'RE GOING TO DIE EITHER WAY."
He stepped forward, his eyes burning with urgency.
"These people—they don't respect you. They don't even see you as alive. Just resources. Just numbers. They'll drain you dry and dump your body in a ditch."
He took another step.
"If you follow me, yeah—some of you might die. But I swear to you, dying fighting for a chance at freedom is better than sitting here, waiting for your turn on the table."
He paused. Then drove it home.
"Choose today how you want to die."
That struck something.
He saw it—the shift. The way the trembling turned to tension, how eyes that had been glassy now sharpened with intent.
They'd been cuffed. Force-fed dry ration bars. Their quirks—the very thing that made them who they were—had been suppressed like it was nothing. Blood samples taken, bodies poked and prodded.
No sunlight. No space. No breaks. No names.
Only sedation.
Only silence.
It wasn't a life.
It wasn't even captivity.
It was extermination in slow motion.
No one argued anymore.
Every girl and boy, every teen who had sat in those locked cells now looked at Rio not with doubt—but with something like belief.
"Good," he said, voice quieter now. "There are guns in the back. We're making it out of here… one way or the other."
He turned.
And something inside him cracked.
He was leading kids—barely older than himself—straight into hell.
Marching them toward bullets and batons and blood.
All because of his own selfishness.
Because the lives of his friends…
Weighed heavier than the lives of twenty-two strangers.
That truth wrapped around his chest like chains.
And it threatened to break him.
Author's notes: A happy new eek to all my readers in whatever part of the world you may be. So I finally managed to stockpile three chapters (since it seems to be the norm to have 3 chapters as the lowest tier.) I haven't posted anything on there yet, heck I haven't even listed the tiers (You guys should give me suggestions for the pricing I want it to be affordable.) Right about now I've written up to chapter fifty-one. I haven't edited it yet but I'll work on it soon, after I get some sleep my eyelids are about to fall off. I just realised I can change the stuff I've written with the update buton.
So that's it from me you can search my username @So_indecisive on patreon just join as a free member for now so you can get any updates regarding this book first. Let's hope WW3 doesn't start while I'm asleep. (I'm iterally yawning I'm even writing based off muscle memory here.)